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Dean Wareham - Dean Wareham

The cult artist’s cult artist,
so some do say

A new album bearing the name
Dean Wareham is cause for
huzzahs. Last heard on the
blink-and-you’ll-miss-it
Emancipated Hearts miniature,
and last seen in a toe-curling
dinner party scene in the movie Frances Ha, the former Galaxie
500 and Luna man in the
denim shirt is back on form
with his first proper solo effort,
produced by Jim James of My
Morning Jacket.

Backed by his sometime
foil, the luscious bassist
Britta Phillips, and drummer
Anthony LaMarca, Wareham
takes his time exploring post-psychedelic
roots on The
Dancer Disappears before he
steps into the light on Love Is
Not A Roof Against The Rain.
Then he ramps his signature
heartbreak-with-guitars up
a notch on Holding Pattern,
driven by a chorus that drips
irony as it namechecks
Kansas, Boston, Toto,
Journey, Foreigner and Styx.

A peculiar cove, Wareham
is also a viciously acute lyricist
with a love for tremolo, and
has invented what might be
described as quiet heavy metal, or rock’n’roll noir. Babes
In The Wood and Happy
& Free close out Dean’s
disc with balladic beauty:
insistent sounds, like rain
on a corrugated iron roof.
Fingers crossed that the next
Dean’n’Britta arrives soon.

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